


Spring Awakening

by paperwhite



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Achievement Hunter Kings, Gen, Mad King Ryan, Mogar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 11:42:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6983542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperwhite/pseuds/paperwhite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a story for the minecraft server AHKingdoms.   An Achievement Hunter Kings AU survival server, players join a kingdom and compete during Let's Play nights.  More information here at ahkingdoms.com!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The warm winds of spring filled the kingdoms. Snow melt tumbled into streams, buds bloomed on long-bare trees. And the kingdoms, long since complacent, grown large with indolence, began to look forward to summer. And in Creator's Bay, where all kingdoms were born, a disturbance punctured the earth. What had long since been abandoned, began to show new life.

The Creator turned towards his First Made, asking "Builder, what is this new creation?" But the Builder answered "This is not of my making." 

The Creator then called upon The Jester, saying "What new trick have you played on us all?" The Jester laughed, exclaiming "This root is not of my tree."

The Creator then asked his Warrior, asking "Have you woken a fresh enemy? Whose spilt blood has woken the earth?" And the Warrior growled, denying it. "My sword's blood is still of this world." 

Curious, the Creator asked the self-fashioned Dark God. "What beast have you pulled from the hole? What chaos are you bringing?" And the Dark One smirked, and shook his head. "My head and heart is dark, First One. This is not mine."

In wonderment, the Creator turned towards Hell, asking hopelessly. "Does this come from your ashen fires?" But answers had long since ceased from that realm. Silence was his only answer.

 

The Kings roused themselves, the first mystery in many ages stirring curiosity.

The Mad King climbed from the bedrock fortress, walking the desert dunes of his kingdom. Redstone pulsed with his presence, his kingdom flowing with new energy as he walked among them. He walked the roads, pleased with his subject’s progress. The herds multiplied as he moved among them. He loved his people so, that he promised even greater prosperity and wonderments upon his return. He passed through the dark, spellbound forests at the edge of the Great Ocean. Humming as he crafted a ship, he departed; riding the southern tides.

The Warrior descended from his mountain. In disguise, Mogar roamed his kingdom. He approved of his people’s valiant hearts and faithful traditions. Before descending the steps of his capitol, he stopped at a small, almost forgotten building. Closing the door behind him, he faced the monument the Builder crafted so long ago. The Warrior entreated his old friend; hoping he would succeed where the Creator failed. “Ray. Would you not answer? Would you not see where this new thing has shaken the world?” The Warrior waited. A full day and night passed as he strained to hear a voice from the netherrealms. Finally, when the silence was too much to bear, the Warrior tore a banner from the wall, boarded a ship, and began his trek north.

The Jester scrambled down the branches of his sacred tree, his light steps summoning his favorite creatures from the greenwood. Their mask was one he often wore to spy upon his people, and those that would cross his borders. The smell of sulfur and flint trailing him now, mischief to manage. He wore that mask again now, stealthily slinking behind his inhabitants, delighting in their fear as they ran. He capered down the paths of his kingdom, espying the development around him. Pleased, he gamboled his way through town, the retreating explosions heralding his crossing of the southern boundary, laughing as he went.

The Builder peered through his tower window, past the clouds below. Axe in hand, he strode down steps of clouds, water, and earth. As the Builder touched the soil of his realm, he could scent new flowers on the breeze, woods strange to his kingdom, and tradewinds that had no origin. The world thrummed with energy, and his wonderment was only deferred for the sake of his own Hills. He turned an attentive eye to towers and walls, his hand blessing the fence posts and doorways of his populace. As he walked, the kingdom’s hearths burned brighter, furnaces filled with fire, and the peoples chests were stuffed with bounty. The Builder hallowed his people above all, and as he left, wished protection upon them. Through deep forests he walked, heading north to his Creator.

From all corners of the world they traveled, journeying over familiar roads, across beloved mountains. They saw the works of their people, marveled at the towering structures, machines, and art. The Kings came to the newly turbulent waters of Creator’s Bay, each paying homage to the Throne. The seat of their power, and the origin of their world. After leaving gifts and honors, they moved down the road, to the place of their Birth.

The earth and sky welcomed them home as the Kings crossed the border into Achievement City. The Builder surveyed his old home, noting the rotting timbers and dusty corners. He sighed, weary and hungry from travel as he drove his banner into the dirt, marking his old place of victory and celebration. A light emanated from bedrock to sky as he did. Satisfied, he spoke “Creator, I come bearing the gifts of my kingdom. What treasure we have, is yours.”

The Jester laughed, a wide grin on his face as he twirled, deftly spearing the earth with his own banner, a light matching Jack’s piercing the sky. “I too, All Father, bring evidence of my travels. But our treasures and tricks are our own, for cleverness cannot be packaged.”

“From a Fool’s mouth, indeed” murmured the Mad King, his worn banner fluttering in the strange breeze. The light from below casting his face into sharp relief as he laid a box at the foot of the monolith next to him. “I was content where I was, sovereigns. Let us conquer this new thing, and we may flee again what we left before.”

Through the air sailed the banner of the Spectral Rose, staking the ground in front of the lone dirt mound in the square. It had been thrown by the Warrior, who leaned casually on his own banner, the glittering light catching the hilt of his sword. “You never had patience, Mad One. You must first discover an enemy’s weakness before engaging in battle.” Offering his own bloodstained gift, he faced the towering walls in front of him.  
“So, Ryan, what fell beast have you brought from the world’s core? This reeks of your treachery.” The Jester asked, torn between indifference and scorn.

“My ambitions long since moved past this City, Fool. Disturbances in this ancient mud are long past me,” said the Dark One. “But Mogar, does your Queen have no insight? She who could see both future and past is blind in this?”

“Whatever this is, it eludes her. As it does me. There has yet to be an enemy that slips past both my sword and her eyes,” said the Warrior, his own eyes fixed ahead of him still.

“All of you are blind,” stated the Builder softly. “Do you not see it right in front of you?”

From the shadows within emerged the Creator. Diamond pickaxe slung over his shoulder, the Creator shone with the stardust of life. Runes and sigils were etched into his skin and moonlight glinted upon his aurora green armor. He studied the men in front of him. And for the first time in many moons, the Kings gazed at each other across a field of green and black.

“Enlighten me, Builder, what has us sightless?” asked the Jester.

But the ever alert Warrior had followed his Creator’s gaze. Startled, he could only point with his sword. The Dark One followed where the sword was pointed, and narrowed his eyes in suspicion. The Jester, too, followed his old friend’s gaze, and laughed faintly. 

For where six banners had been planted, a seventh now sprung.

And the world moved.

 

Achievement City trembled, as if it had been waiting for them to arrive before rupturing. Slowly, through the earth, emerged a roof, and then walls. The Builder watched as planks joined, clay drawn from deep riverbeds smelted and laid into bricks, iron wrought and wound. Pillars of nether quartz rose, and between them a set of simple oak doors.

The Jester’s bow was drawn, Mogar’s sword unsheathed. Jack ran a practiced thumb over the edge of his axe. The Mad King, wiping his mouth and pushing a flagon back into his pouch, spoke. “What have you brought into the world, Creator? And why feign ignorance? Did you miss us so?”

But the Creator, unspeaking still, swung his pickaxe and struck the ground. A flurry of sparks flew, the air teeming with life. And the doors of the house opened.

From it emerged a figure, clad poorly in rags. Unassuming, yet he had a compelling presence. Wise, gentle eyes met the Creator’s scrutiny first, then turned his attention to the others.

“Hi,” he stated bluntly.

Stunned silence filled the city square. The Kings had not found themselves so bewildered in many ages. Finally, the Creator spoke. His voice was authority itself. Kindly, stern, and ageless. “What are you?”  
The man’s brows furrowed, as if the question had never before occurred to him. The emotions ranged from confusion, realization, and then finally, hesitation. He took a deep breath before replying.

“I am not your child, Creator. Not as these are. You did not craft me from dust and yearning. I, instead, stem from all of you. I am the child of your free will. I am the child of your shores, and your principles. I am the delight from your tricks,” he nodded his head to the Jester. “I am your sword song,” meeting the eyes of Mogar. “I am the walls of your fortresses,” smiling to the Builder. “I am the victory of invention,” inclining his head to the Mad King. “And I am the fruit of your happiness,” turning to the Creator, “and of your despair.” He gestured to the empty doorway of the Red King’s home.

“When The Red King departed, his song woke me. I heard music notes. They were filled with joy, camaraderie, and adventure. They sounded like new chances, fresh roads, and the widening horizon. And so my eyes opened.”

The Kings exchanged glances. The Warrior looked contemplative, the Jester wary. But it was the Builder who spoke first. “I have not heard the fall of your axe. Your home fires do not burn here. Where do you live?”

“Everywhere. Dark caves that have not yet seen torchlight. Hillsides not yet fallen into night. Ocean waves unbroken by a boat’s wake.” He gestured to his clothes, “I have no stand for my armor. I have no saddle and lead for a horse. And when darkness falls, it devours all in my sight. Only when the moon rises am I revived. My realm is not of this place. It is between here and the next. In the seam that joins bedrock to earth, the void to the plane, and the fire to the grass.”

“He is not a King, “said Ryan. “We have won our crowns through might and cunning.”

“My crown was conferred dangling from an iron blade,” snarled Mogar.  
“And mine was born of wiles and mirth,” grinned the Jester.

“My crown was placed upon my head by you all, for I am the bulwark of our estate” murmured Jack. “And it is the Creator who consecrated us all.”

The Creator nodded, looking at the monarchs. “It is true, you have each earned your crown through your works,” he turned towards the new presence. “What shall you do for yours?”

“I will take part in your games, if you like. I would be among you, helping. I will walk with you all and embrace this land. But first, an invitation.” He motioned towards the inside of his home. “Come to my realm. For inside are wonders unimagined. The world reinvented lies just through that door. Explore it with me a while.”

The Kings thought for a time. A sun rose, set, and rose again while they deliberated. Some were concerned, for how would they ever get back? Others in favor of leaving immediately; a new enterprise was hard to resist. But when the sun set on the second day, they had come to their decision.

“We will walk with you for the first moon’s cycle. Show us what you may, so that we can bring knowledge back to our peoples,” spoke Geoff.

And the newcomer stood, dusting off his shabby clothes, and cheerfully welcoming them.

But the Jester paused. “Where, exactly, are we going?”  
The newcomer looked knowingly at the Creator. He chuckled, and bowed his head as if in assent.

“Restoration’s Rise,” intoned Geoff, returning the stranger’s smile. He ran his hand along the banner, the shade a mix of the Red King’s blood, and the new arrival’s strange skies. A rose, in remembrance, painting the center. He imbued the cloth with his approval, the new standard shimmering with life.

“And what do we call you?” asked The Builder.

“My name is Jeremy,” said the man, raising his chin proudly.

“That is no title,” scoffed the Mad King.

“He is the Awakened Prince,” whispered the Warrior. “For as the Red King fell, he did arise.”

And the Kings all agreed, gathered their things, and walked into the unknown.


	2. Chapter Two

The Kings’ return was with some noise, less grace, and no fanfare.

The door of the small house flung open, and the monarchs sat upon their original standard. Gavin’s face was smudged with dirt, hair mussed, and a pleased grin on his face. Out of a crudely fashioned trunk poked enchanted gems; talismans of every variety. He popped a purple grape into his mouth, before plucking another one from the bunch and throwing it at Mogar’s face. With a returning growl that did not match the rare smile on his face, Michael speared Gavin’s green cloak with his new blade. It gleamed bluer than any diamond, and twice as sharp. An indignant huff was the warrior’s answer. Before any more fruit could be thrown, a loud crash made them both twist their heads to find the source. They then observed Ryan struggling with his loot. The Mad King had dragged two chests from their adventure. Filled with strange powders and minerals, Michael would swear something inside was ticking. He was practically a dragon guarding his hoard, so enamored he was with his findings.

Jack leaned against the white columns of the home. Pulling a flagon of golden apple juice from his belt, he took a swig of the shimmering liquid, surveying his friends and their treasures. He returned with a fuller stomach than when he left, and collected so many new dishes that he was sure his people would never starve. Thinking upon the bounty for his people, he was distraction when another flagon toasted his own. Looking up, he smiled to watch the Creator raise his own horn full of wine to his lips. The sun overhead began to set as Geoff drained his wine. He nodded to Jeremy, who had returned as empty-handed as he first appeared. His joy was infectious, a never-failing smile upon his face as he lay down upon the grass, watching the clouds pass by.  
The First observed them all, noting with resignation when their satisfied manner slowly disintegrated into strained silence. For the month they had travelled their hearts and tongues had been light, enjoying the new adventure. Discovering new lands, new customs, new powers. But now, to Achievement City they returned. And each ruler feeling the weight of their crown. Geoff narrowed his eyes, staring into the long-forgotten gloom of his ruined home. It was Gavin who broke the silence.

“It is time we parted, lads. My people’s laughter will ring throughout the north, such will their delight be in these new revelries.”  
Mogar nodded, “It is true. The realm will remain secure and strong. My warriors will be equipped with these blades, and their watch will be more vigilant than ever.” He held the sword in front of his face, the blade catching the setting sun.

Ryan smirked, “My people’s sharp minds will advance the technology of our world by leaps and bounds. My universities lanterns will never darken.”

They all looked at Jack, who was running his hand along the column. “My people’s pantries shall never be empty. Our farms and cauldrons shall never be bare,” he obliged; though all could tell he was preoccupied.

“Jack, speak. What is it?” asked Gavin, always curious.

“The house…” he said sadly.

Ryan and Michael stepped closer, examining the home. The shared a knowing, somber look, before turning to Jeremy.

While nothing seemed to ever dent his affable demeanor, at this -Jeremy sat up, concerned. He ducked his head inside the doorway. Torches were slowly dying, and even as he watched, spiders began spinning their webs.

“What does it mean?” he asked, panicked.

“You’re staying with us a while,” answered Gavin ruefully. “Achievement City claims its own.”

Jeremy turned to Geoff, asking plaintively “Can you fix it?”

Geoff did not move his gaze from the dark hole that had been opened in his home. He only nodded, absently. His mind already turned inwards, the fiery sparks of life already swirling around his fingertips, as his hands once more took up the pickaxe.

Jeremy looked worried, until Jack stood, offering him his hand. “Come with me awhile then, princeling. Visit our kingdoms in turn. Let us put your gifts to good use.” At that, the new prince smiled gratefully, and nodded.

It was an unspoken signal. The rest of them collected what they had taken from Restoration’s Rise, and began walking towards the road that left Achievement City.

“Going to need to a bigger boat, Ryan. That’s ridiculous,” said Gavin, skipping along the grass, leaves dancing in his wake.

“Jester, the only thing ridiculous here is you. Away to the forest with you,” intoned Ryan, as he moved towards the docks.

“Yes, yes, Mad One. To your laboratory then,” dismissed Jack. “Keep your bitter counsel to the barren deserts. We go to temperate forests, and away from such dry winds.” Jack chuckled with Jeremy, already spying the black sails of his royal ship at dock.

“Fare you well, brothers,” said the Warrior as he bowed, then slipping into the shadows with a tired sigh. The road home would be long, and this adventure gave Mogar much to ponder.

And silence fell over Achievement City once more. The Creator’s shoulders fell, the weight of many centuries upon them. He moved to the vine-covered entrance to his home, and the eternal shadows enveloped him.


End file.
